He called on Wednesday slurring
some syllables in attempted slaughter
of slander,
because Charlie spoke of cigarettes
and sipping Pinot in snow boots.
My glass had tipped off the balcony,
and in it's choreographed tumble,
whipped the crimson contents at his face.
He doesn't find this funny.
Charlie doesn't find it poetic.
Last week, he caught my hand in its backstroke
and twirled me so roughly, that
I lost my sense of direction in the dance
and took him back.
My fingers still wear his purple claim
when I scrub the skin to roughly.
Tuesday I told him the truth, that
love doesn't always live
in beer and vodka.
That his eyes make me feel
like shallow water--or worse,
like some second-rate photograph
of a reflection in shallow water
placed on a Boise Idaho postcard
in a 7-11 off the Interstate.
He blinks twice and walks away.
I go to close the door he's clumsily
left ajar, as usual, grasp the handle firmly,
and whisper to the leaves before
slamming it shut in the shadow of his
whiskey-breath and mismatched
guitar chords.
If only he could see that there's more truth
in that one glass of wine on my kitchen counter top
than all the Southern Comfort at Daisy's Saloon,
I may have sacrificed a tear or feigned a paper cut.
Instead, I smile at Bach and tilt my chin
to meet the first night of freedom
with an un-witnessed smile, and a fireplace
all alight with the pathetic lyrics
he'll be playing within the hour
for donations inside a Pink Floyd hat,
ripping at the brim.
Author notes
Uuummm... yeah.
A contest entry
- there is truth in wine by And Hyetal.
850 points, ended December 26, 2008, 9 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Be brutal. I can take it.
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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wow. Loved it.
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Holy smokes I really enjoyed this effort! Your poem took us for quite a ride: "like some second-rate photograph
of a reflection in shallow water
placed on a Boise Idaho postcard
in a 7-11 off the Interstate." Your images are so fitting and powerful, forcing us to travel with you. Forcing me to look through him with you. I have no real critisms for ya.
Only one line I felt was a little lacking, because I feel it is a line of transition.
"I may have sacrificed a tear or feigned a paper cut."
I only say this because the rest of your poem is so evoking, this line had a little less draw for me.
That being said, it is still a work to be (very) proud of.
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Thank you so very kindly!
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I really like the rhythm of the write ... the story really drew me in. also, the texture of the scenes in this write are loose but not in a sloppy manner, allowing the reader room.
I would love to leave something constructive to say but I think this flow and style is you ... & only you can work out the kinks.
thanks for the write.
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Thanks you very kindly,
I do have a strange style, indeed.
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